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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423394">Harry Potter and the Dreaded Handkerchief</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingcr0ws/pseuds/countingcr0ws'>countingcr0ws</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adults, Alternate Universe - Career, Alternate Universe - Office, Amnesia, Auror Harry Potter, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Colleagues - Freeform, Courting Rituals, Dating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, Fluff, Fluffy, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Fundraisers, Harry Potter Cooks, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, Harry/Draco Mpreg Fest 2020, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Memory Loss, Ministry of Magic Employee Harry Potter, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Phone Calls &amp; Telephones, Post-War, Social Media, Texting, entrepreneurs, injuries, not angsty!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:02:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingcr0ws/pseuds/countingcr0ws</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter wakes up one day and realises that he has lost six years of his memory from an accident at work. </p><p>But it's not so bad because there's the <i>internet</i> nowadays, and Malfoy's back from his disappearance post-war! </p><p>In which Harry bribes everyone with Greg's pastries, and tries to keep Malfoy in his life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>HD Mpreg 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Harry James Potter wakes up in a hospital bed, from yet another injury</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt: Amnesia </p><p>Betaed by: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coeurire">Bell (coeurire)</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzledri">Mia (zzledri)</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry woke to the harsh, familiar smell of antiseptic spells. It was getting old quickly, the stiff bed sheets, the fussy nurses that would insist on checks even though he felt fine. He blinked quickly when he realised he was unable to sit up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As more details of the room slowly settled in, he noticed the insistent clicking of monitoring spells in the background. Why was he in the acute care ward? His last and only stay in the room had been immediately after the war, when the combination of poor nutrition and magical depletion had taken a grievous toll on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Potter,” said a familiar voice. Harry turned to look at the nurse. Ethel was the head nurse for Aurors and Hitwizards, and Harry was starting to come to terms with the fact that things were serious. Ethel hardly tended to her cases directly. What had he got himself into this time? How badly had he injured himself? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what happened?” he asked finally, after waiting through the diagnostic and nourishment spells. “Did someone jump me on the way home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ethel peered at him over her glasses, her eyes sharp. “What is the last thing you remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I might have purchased too many lemons for my tart,” he said. He had found a book of recipes in the Grimmauld library, and had decided that a lemon-buttermilk tart would be a suitable challenge for the Aurors’ shared lunch. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed Ethel’s shoulder stiffen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She casted another series of spells before addressing him once more. “How old are you, Mr. Potter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty-five.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drew back, her face marked with concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is something wrong?” he asked, trying to sit up but was pressed backwards lightly. “Did I lose some of my memories?” he transfigured the blanket into a mirror and held it up, gasping at the sight of his reflection. His facial hair had grown out from the lack of maintenance, lending him an air of dishevelment—but most importantly, he looked older. There was even a patch of grey in his moustache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened? How long have I been here?” he demanded. It was obvious that something had gone wrong. How many years had he lost?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Potter, I advise you to calm down,” Ethel said briskly, as she reversed the transfiguration. The windows were shaking from his agitation. “Mr. Potter, you need to calm down or I will have to put you to sleep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! How long have I—” he broke off, his eyes falling shut. He collapsed onto the bed, slipping into a forced slumber. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ethel shook her head with a sigh. Tucking her wand back into her sleeve, she squared her shoulders. There was research to be done, and calls to be made.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>- - -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron and Hermione were present the next time he woke, the both of them solemn as Ethel broke the news to him. He was thirty-one, and he was still an Auror. He had been breaking up the resurgence of a wizarding terrorism ring when the goons had accidentally knocked over crates of exploding potion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being the most seasoned Auror in the team, Harry had cast a shield that had helped to control the blast, but the sheer force of the explosion had still broken through, throwing everybody into the air. Because he was the nearest, Harry had experienced the largest impact—ear damage, eye rupture, blast lung, broken ribs and leg, and swelling in his brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Close to death, he had been placed in stasis under intensive care before finally being released after rigorous tests. The memory loss had gone undetected until he had awoken. He had lost six years of memories. Harry was frustrated, but at the same time, he was grateful to even be alive, especially when there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Internet</span>
  </em>
  <span> nowadays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>GinnyWeasley</span>
  </em>
  <span> has sent me a message. ‘You’re alive??’,” he read aloud in amusement to both Hermione and Ron who were also staring at their respective wePhones. Hermione even had two of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She really wishes me dead,” he said as he typed back an equally rude message. The motor memory still lingered and he was intimate with the workings of his phone—he knew how to type and scroll on the small screen—but he didn’t know the stories in his life, like how Ron had quit the Aurors to join the Weasley’s Wizarding Wonders (previously Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes) to invent the phone he was using. Despite only being acquainted with it for half an hour, Harry was already sold. The opportunity to catch up on past-Harry’s life was another definite plus.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone wishes that they were here,” Ron replied as he raised his phone to take another picture of Harry on his hospital bed. The both of them laughed when Harry posed with a one-finger salute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lewis would have a field day,” Hermione said disapprovingly as she finally looked up from her Ministry issued wePhone. “That’s our new PR company. All this,” she mimicked his hand gesture, “is bad for your image.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why does everyone have to see everything I post. Can’t the app configure it?</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harry said in annoyance before nearly dropping his phone in shock—“Malfoy replied to my update with an eye roll! Malfoy is back? How can he reply to me?” he demanded as he pressed on Malfoy’s poncy picture that showcased his shiny hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy hadn’t changed at all, that much Harry could tell as he scrolled through the pretentious pictures on his profile quickly. There were less than ten photographs, but it was better than nothing. Malfoy had left for the continent immediately after the war, and had not appeared in any headlines since. He really should have thought about stalking Malfoy the moment he learnt about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Picturae</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, you guys are fine now. You even work with him sometimes. But tell him your suggestion for the app, wouldn’t you? It’s a good one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaise—Blaise Zabini invented </span>
  <em>
    <span>Picturae</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Hermione explained when Harry only looked at Ron in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I need to work on that bit,” Ron apologised. “Zabini and Malfoy are still friends, so he can pass your suggestion along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No </span>
  </em>
  <span>– I work with Malfoy sometimes? Is he an Auror? No, he wouldn’t be. Is he also in the Ministry? When did he return?” Harry asked as he watched them closely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to calm down, Harry. Or we’ll be kicked out,” Hermione said loudly, her eyes darting to the door as she shot Ron a dirty look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m very calm,” Harry insisted as he leaned backwards discreetly, embarrassed by his own rapid questions. Hermione had enacted a moratorium on discussions about Malfoy immediately after the war, and Malfoy’s Ministry file was so closely guarded that it effectively didn’t exist. He had always felt persecuted by his friends for his healthy amount of curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malfoy does advertisements, and he returned to England two years ago because Lucius' health was deteriorating. During the period of time, he also helped to start </span>
  <em>
    <span>Picturae</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Hermione said slowly. He kept his face determinedly blank as he gestured for her to continue. "Afterwards, he started his own advertisement firm. He’s on the list of advertising agencies shortlisted by the Ministry, and his expertise falls closely with the Aurors' requirements. You’re the Media Outreach liaison for the Aurors, so you’ve worked with him to craft the social media advertisements.” Hermione explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? The Media Outreach Liaison?” he waved at himself in disbelief. “Why would I volunteer? Isn’t Robards doing it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robards retired, and Proudfoot hates the media more than you do, so—” Ron shrugged. “Comes with the new job description of Deputy Head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m the Deputy Head Auror? Why didn't you guys mention that earlier?” Harry exclaimed as he rubbed at the new scar he had previously noticed on his brow in shock. If he had emerged with only a scar on his face to show for his missions, it was remarkable—he had to check his body for other marks when Hermione and Ron left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah mate,” Ron said while Hermione began to tap away on her phone when it pinged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make a list on the things we need to catch up on, and how we should do it,” she said when she was done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stared at the sheets as he tried to consolidate all the information about himself—he was now thirty-one, he was Deputy Head of the Auror Department, Ron was an inventor, Hermione was Head of the Communications Office, they had a daughter, Teddy was already in Hogwarts, and Malfoy was back—it was simply too much.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Harry James Potter, aged 31, is Deputy Head Auror and he has lived without six years of his memory for two weeks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This used to be a glassware shop,” Harry said as he pointed to a shop at the front of Diagon Alley.</p><p>“And then it became an antiques shop, before it ended up as a hat shop,” Teddy said as he pulled him along.</p><p>Harry nodded as he gaped at the change. The shops had got louder—if it was even possible, and the shopfront for the Weasley’s Wizarding Wonders had tripled in size. A rival line of phones from across the pond had set up opposite them.</p><p>“Do you need to get anything from Wonders?”</p><p>“A new phone?” Teddy’s eyes widened as he smiled hopefully at him.</p><p>Harry looked at him with narrowed eyes. His phone was the same model as Teddy’s, wasn’t it? He stumbled when a harried mother scolding her son bumped into him. “Is anyone bullying you for your phone?” he asked carefully.</p><p>Teddy looked at him incredulously, his face splitting into a slow smile. “That’s what you said the last time too. You never change, Harry.”</p><p>Harry scratched his head sheepishly. Andromeda had said the same when he had left her house a week ago, and the comment still made him uncomfortable. He wanted to be dependable, but the idea that he was so stagnant scared him. He felt like all of his friends had made strides in both their careers and personal lives. While he had done okay for himself in the first, he was stuck with the latter. </p><p>He had yet to resume his usual workload, but the job of past-Harry was what he had always desired. His Auror team was competent and close knit, their strong bonds forged from tough cases. However, Harry had thought that he would have had a lover by thirty. He understood that his work was consuming, but surely there was somebody he could share his life with? What if another six years passed? Would he still be alone in his cavernous house when Teddy finished school, when Ron and Hermione had their second child? </p><p>His ability to plod along had been his strength when he was younger, but it was now his burden. While he could continue as it was, it would make him unhappy. However, he didn’t know where to begin if he wanted to make changes. What if he regained his memories and hated the new life that he had made for himself?</p><p>Rubbing his temple in frustration, Harry pushed his thoughts aside as he refocused on Teddy. Andromeda had given him the opportunity to get to know his grown godson better, and he had been tasked to put Teddy’s third year booklist together, and get new clothes for Teddy in Muggle London. There was a long day ahead with no time for self-pity.</p><p>-</p><p>“And finally, the best for the last!” Teddy exclaimed as he skipped towards a dark grey shop in glee.</p><p>Harry craned his neck to read the signboard. “Serendipity?” he said incredulously. With his wallet almost emptied, he had suggested a quick break before continuing their shopping trip, and Teddy had led him to the end of Horizontal Alley. Even the name of the recommended shop was pretentious. </p><p>Teddy raised an amused brow at him as he held the door open for a young couple. “It’s your favourite shop, I promise.”</p><p>“My favourite shop?” Harry repeated hesitantly as he took in the clean lines and minimalist décor in white, grey and wood accents. His favourite shop had been the bakery near Grimmauld, but it had shuttered sometime during the six years that he had lost. His current favourite shop was the nearby Tesco for its semblance of normalcy, which was a bloody depressing thought. </p><p>“Yeah—Draco!” Teddy exclaimed, running over when he noticed his second cousin in the shop. Harry’s head swivelled around from his inspection of the menu. Indeed there Malfoy was, his hair as shiny as it was in his display picture in <em> Picturae </em>, but his fringe was a lot longer than it had been before, which was information not shared on his profile. It was ridiculous. These changes were precisely the sort of thing that should be catalogued, not the sunset, peonies, dusty books on a shelf, his computer, Pansy’s fingernails, a swan, and Blaise holding up his middle finger. It was incredibly frustrating when out-of-place Harry grasped the concept of social media better than people who had created it.</p><p>“You didn’t say that you were visiting!” Teddy accused, as he unceremoniously looped his arm around Malfoy’s neck to pull him close. Harry’s eyes widened at Teddy’s irreverence. How familiar were they? Andromeda had not mentioned anything about Malfoy, and Teddy must have seen him recently to know his schedule.</p><p>Harry nearly keeled over in shock when Malfoy laughed—a deep, genuine laughter with crinkly eyes and all—as he leaned backwards into Teddy’s embrace. </p><p>“Am I not allowed to visit Greg now? Do I have to report to you?” he teased as he shoved playfully at Teddy’s abdomen.</p><p>“Of course you do! We could have dropped by earlier and had tea together or something. Or we could have gone shopping together. You should see the new seeds that Harry got me. And the Hippogriff pot! Harry, show him,” Teddy waved him over excitedly. </p><p>“Show him, show him,” he insisted when Harry only stood by Malfoy’s table, an awkward smile pasted onto his face, his eyes darting back and forth—from Malfoy’s glittering eyes, the unbridled amusement, the half-eaten yellow tart, Malfoy’s slim fingers as he held onto Teddy’s embrace—while he tried his best to not be obvious about it all.</p><p>“The pot flies,” Teddy said excitedly to Malfoy.</p><p>“Yes, show me, Harry,” Draco said in amusement, his smile strangely showing no malice. Had they progressed onto first names? Weren’t they supposed to be professional at work?</p><p>Harry searched the extendable shopping bag from Hermione, nervous from the expectant looks he was receiving. He brightened when his hand connected with the pot behind Teddy’s new owl cage, above the packs of soil. </p><p>“There it is.” He unwrapped it with a wave of his hand and placed it on the table.</p><p>“It’s not flying,” Malfoy said blandly as he turned the pot here and there for inspection.</p><p>“Of course not! You’ll need to fill it first,” Teddy said with a roll of his eyes as he lifted it to eye level. “Everyone would be so jealous,” he said to himself.</p><p>“The Gryffindor rides the Hippogriff, the Slytherin kills the Hippogriff, and the Hufflepuff <em>fills</em> the Hippogriff <em>with</em> <em>soil</em>,” Malfoy said to him with a wry smile.</p><p>Harry looked at Malfoy uneasily, distinctly wrong-footed. Was he supposed to laugh?  Did they make jokes about their younger selves? Where had Malfoy disappeared to all these years? Why did he have to visit Greg?</p><p>“He’s a good boy,” Teddy said, petting his pot fondly as he set it down. “I’ll get you your favourites? Do you want anything else?” he asked Harry and Malfoy, thanking him when Harry handed him his wallet.</p><p>Harry sat down awkwardly when Teddy left. He rewrapped the pot carefully for want of something to do, jumping when Malfoy spoke first.</p><p>“I knew that you’d spoil him.”</p><p>“I don’t,” Harry said as he looked up quickly. “I don’t spoil him,” he repeated quietly when he noticed the shock on Malfoy’s face at his aggressive tone.  </p><p>“You do. I bet that the pot costs a few galleons,” Malfoy insisted as he cleared his work away.</p><p>“Just a few,” Harry replied, surprised that they had not started brawling. Maybe they were friends? But their messages only consisted of work related messages, and if Ron and Hermione didn’t know that they were friends—were they friends?</p><p>“A few too many galleons alright. The pot was bloody blinking, and the feathers were honest to Merlin distinct. Admit it, Potter. You’re a softie.”</p><p>“I’m—” Harry started to defend himself before giving up. “I’m er—not your friend,” he said awkwardly as he pressed his palms against his thighs, looking beyond Malfoy’s shoulder at the wallpaper behind him. “As in, I’m not the Harry Potter you know. I lost my memories during that incident. Six years of it. You weren’t back in wizarding Great Britain six years ago and I don’t know how to—” he gestured between them weakly. Harry didn’t know what possessed him to share about his incident. The news of his memory loss was classified information, only privy to the Ministry, his friends, and family. Was it the sheer awkwardness of the entire interaction? Or the fact that Malfoy might learn about it anyway when they worked together. It was inevitable, really.</p><p>Malfoy blinked slowly at him, his lips slightly parted in obvious shock. “<em> Six years? </em>” he repeated in disbelief, his head tilted upwards in recollection. “I just thought that you were too busy to reply. The accident was all over the papers but I didn’t know that it was so serious.”</p><p>“Yes, well,” Harry said awkwardly. The expression on Malfoy’s face was indecipherable, he looked concerned, a little bit angry and strangely, devastated? It felt like he was intruding in something personal—Malfoy was obviously thinking about the Harry that he knew, but the person in front of Malfoy right now was <em> Potter </em>—they were no more familiar than school rivals who were distantly related through a young boy that they both loved. </p><p>It was obvious that Harry’s condition reminded Malfoy of his father. Lucius had become nothing but a shell after his release from Azkaban, but where his father was essentially a shadow of himself, Harry was functional. He was still making new memories, learning old ones. Malfoy didn’t need to be so upset, and surely he would be embarrassed to show Potter so much emotion. </p><p>Harry looked away quickly to give him space. “We can learn to be whatever we were again,” he suggested.</p><p>Malfoy’s bottom lip was white from how hard he was biting it. “Yes, I—” he ran his fingers through his hair, his mind obviously elsewhere. “I just—six years is a lot,” he said disbelievingly, flushing when Harry only returned an unimpressed look. “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry. It’s just—” he pressed the back of his palm against his mouth as he breathed in deeply.</p><p>They were both interrupted by a clap on Harry’s shoulder. Harry swivelled around sharply, taken aback by the sight of Goyle in a dusty, frilly, pink apron, a streak of white powder on his face. Goyle was smiling widely at him.</p><p>“Been a long while. I thought that you had found a new patisserie,” he said jokingly as Teddy set a tray laden with tiny, colourful pastries on the table.</p><p>Harry looked to Malfoy desperately for assistance. It was quickly evident that Goyle owned Serendipity—supposedly <em> his </em> favourite shop—which explained Malfoy’s unplanned presence in Horizontal Alley. But the sudden combination of the apron, and their apparent familiarity was too much for him. Why didn’t his past self think about this and follow Serendipity on <em> Picturae </em>? He would have been so much more prepared.</p><p>“Harry was just telling me how busy he was after lazing about in Mungos for so long. You would never cheat on Serendipity, right?” Malfoy asked him.</p><p>“Of course. Nobody compares,” Harry said sincerely. There was a literal lemon lookalike atop a tart, complete with the bumpy texture, and on another, a fresh flower was surrounded by berries. Goyle’s creations were a work of art, and Harry’s mouth was already watering at the sight of the selection.</p><p>“You better remember that, Harry,” Goyle said as he watched Teddy set the plates out of the tray.</p><p>“This is the kind of bribe that I like,” Teddy said exuberantly as he returned Harry his wallet.</p><p>“Do you have time for a seat? This is too much,” Harry said earnestly as he pulled a chair up to their table.</p><p>“Speak for yourself,” Malfoy rearranged the plates so that the shiny chocolate-coated pastry shaped like a dome was in front of him. “You don’t even treat <em> me </em>this well,” he complained.</p><p>Goyle sat down heavily, sighing as he stretched his legs out. “You didn't get grievously injured, did you?”</p><p>“I got a paper cut yesterday,” Malfoy said, his eyes bright with amusement as he handed the extra fork to his friend.</p><p>“That's not an injury. That's an inconvenience,” Teddy said loudly.</p><p>“It was an injury. There was blood and—” Draco large gestures stopped when Harry moaned appreciatively at the tangy lemon curd, the light sponge of the lemon lookalike, and the butternut crumble.</p><p>“This is so good,” Harry said with a sigh, looking at Goyle in a new light. “The contrasting textures and the balance of flavours,” he shook his head appreciatively.</p><p>Goyle beamed at him. “You better not forget about Serendipity again, Harry.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t,” Harry said earnestly as he looked at Teddy in commiseration. He also smiled at Malfoy who was looking at him. “I’ll be back every day if I can help it. I’m glad that I stopped by.”</p><p>“Almost like it’s <em> serendipitous </em>, isn’t it?” Malfoy asked speculatively.</p><p>“Yes,” Harry replied as he looked around the small table, marvelling at the friends past-Harry had made in the six years. </p><p>- - - - -</p><p>
  <b> <em>Serendipity’s first Picturae advertisement, 1 year ago  </em> </b>
</p><p>The camera pans across a minimalist looking café, the lighting warm and the patterned yellow cushions on the benches inviting. A pair of hands are icing a round pink pastry with bunny ears. The steady hands draw a set of chocolate eyes and a soft curling mouth, before moving to the next.</p><p>The camera zooms out to reveal a stocky man in a frilly pink apron, his lips pursed as he frowns in concentration. </p><p>The camera glides over the vast selection of beautifully decorated sweet on display before replaying. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. HJP, 31 y.o., Dy Hd Ar, 4 weeks AML (after memory loss)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry’s results from his Auror assessments had returned, but despite the stellar scores, Proudfoot was still hoping for a return of her deputy's memories, and was reluctant to let him return to his usual workload. It was ridiculous to Harry—while his results were definitely not as high as they used to be, it was almost comparable—most significantly, he had topped the entire force in Situation Analysis and Deduction, and beat his own record for Body Language and Communication—skills he had recently honed from trying to cover up his injury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which led him to his current predicament—the increased number of courses he was supposed to teach. He had no issues with Situation Analysis and Deduction, a new course for him where he could adapt the previous trainer’s lesson plans. Stealth and Tracking on the other hand was a different story. Past-Harry had apparently been teaching it in the last four years, and the lesson plan was non-existent. A half page for two months of course scheduling was unhelpful, to say the least. To reference practical examples for the sessions, Harry had reviewed his past case reports, and the sheer amount of reading was leaving him cross-eyed and desperate to return to the field, even just to settle a noise complaint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nonetheless, working to fill the gap in his life had left him increasingly paranoid about recording everything in case something similar happened again. A part of him knew that the probability was low, but the other part of him was jotting down facts like a fiend. He preferred fruit teas, Weasley Wizarding Wonders had one hundred and fifty two employees working on the wePhone, Teddy's favourite colours were turquoise and Hufflepuff yellow, and Hermione's new Communications Office was on the fifth floor, second room on the right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only consolation was that time continued to pass while he was figuring things out. One day he would have built more new memories than the ones he had lost.</span>
</p><p>- - - - -</p><p>
  <em> <strong>Note found on Harry Potter's office desk in 12 Grimmauld Place - Things to do to maintain deputy Auror credibility:</strong> </em>
</p>
<ol>
<li><span>Read all Auror personnel files (updates, new Aurors, investigate key incidents)</span></li>
<li><span>Read all Auror case reports</span></li>
<li><span>Finish books at home</span></li>
<li><span>Get more books</span></li>
<li><span>Casually talk about Stealth and Tracking with new Aurors</span></li>
<li><span>Meet Malfoy for Communications task </span></li>
</ol>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. HJP, 31 y.o., Dy Hd Ar, 5 weeks AML (after memory loss)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry tapped his finger against the lacquered table in the medium-sized meeting room. Malfoy’s advertising office was located on the second level of a building in central Muggle London, and Harry had opted for a stroll from the Ministry of Magic to take in the area. He knew that Malfoy had lived and worked with the Muggles in France, but seeing the change for himself still shocked him. Malfoy had a yellowing doorbell, an electromagnetic strip at the top of the main door, an office with no expansion charms, and chairs with plastic armrests. It was bizarre. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up when he saw a figure crossing the frosted glass panel of the meeting room. Most importantly, all of his staff were dressed in Muggle work wear. Harry raised a brow when the figure stopped at the entryway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Se-senior Auror Potter,” the lanky brown-haired boy stammered, ‘Potter’ coming out as ‘Potteh’ in his heavy French accent. The boy’s eyes were wide as he held a plastic file tightly in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” Harry replied carefully as he watched the boy closely. He looked about sixteen, with the awkwardness of a sudden growth spurt his body didn’t know what to do about, his shoulders hunched as if trying to fit into the space that it used to take up. Teddy would look like this one day, he realised, and the thought made Harry warm in anticipation. Harry jerked when the boy suddenly stumbled forward for no seeming reason. He closed the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Euh, Draco said that you were looking for ideas for the next campaign,” he headed towards the table. Pausing at the decision on where to sit, he sat two chairs away from Harry. He jumped when their eyes met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burying his head into the file, he quickly pushed a paper across the table. “These are some of our ideas for your consideration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry took the bleached white paper as he ran through the proposals for videos reminding the wizarding community to maintain constant vigilance. The terrorism ring had been disbanded, but the community still had to be alert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s euh, only one page,” the boy said hurriedly when Harry flipped the paper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry set the paper down as he tried to collect his thoughts. He didn’t want to scare the boy, but this was ridiculous. Why did Malfoy send him some rich boy’s son that could not hold any discussion on the project with him? The boy had obviously not done much of the work, more invested in peeking at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry Potter</span>
  </em>
  <span> than being nervous about the ideas that he had submitted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told Malfoy that I wanted three videos—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco said that one setting split into two or three videos would be better,” the boy interrupted, flinching when he noticed Harry’s unimpressed expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely if Malfoy had so many opinions, he could have conveyed it himself, or sent someone who could own the opinion instead of merely repeating it? “Okay, fine. I want the videos to be a little bit more serious to drive—” he paused as he gestured for the boy, whose name he still did not know, to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco said that he didn’t want it to be so serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry took a careful breath as he kept his face determinedly blank. “Is Malfoy around?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy shook his head. Harry stared at him with his best do-you-think-I’m-thick look that he had honed from years interrogating slippery criminals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy shook his head so vigorously that his whole body flailed. “He’s busy and he hasn’t come to the office yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry checked his wePhone for the time in disbelief. Anticipating a proper discussion, he had arranged for the meeting to end before lunch, hoping to get to know Malfoy better. Malfoy had been impossible to get hold of despite Harry subtly prodding Andromeda for information, and apart from work-related correspondences, Malfoy had been clear that he would not entertain other conversations. What was a man to do to get more information about his childhood rival? Surely as account manager for the Aurors Malfoy could at least put a bit of effort to meeting him? “Does he always come in this late?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy shrugged with his arms open and palms up. “But he stays very late,” he defended when he noticed Harry’s disapproving look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry combed a hand through his hair in frustration as he caught himself. It was so easy to fall into the rabbit-hole, judging Malfoy’s supposed work ethics based on the meagre amount of information that he had. It was ridiculous and petty. “What else did Malfoy say about the proposal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without any guidance from Malfoy, he would have to take Malfoy’s comments from a secondhand source, study the Advertising books he had at home, and then return with his own opinions. The lack of support from Malfoy was frustrating. He was hoping that the Communications portion of his jobs would be easier with a friendlier face, but it was clear that he had misjudged their relations. Malfoy was clearly unwilling to be helpful, and Harry refused to roll over and allow Malfoy free reign. He would rebut every point he could with every ounce of justification he could come up with. And with that, there was now more work to be done.</span>
</p><p>- - - - -</p><p>
  <em> <strong>Note found on Harry Potter's office desk in 12 Grimmauld Place - Things to do for new public information campaign:</strong> </em>
</p><p>- Review old campaigns and alignment with Malfoy’s comments from Alexandre</p><p>- Watch public information campaigns </p><p>- Read advertising books</p><p>- Read guerrilla marketing book on bedside table </p><p>
  <span class="u">- RETURN WITH COMMENTS!!!!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. HJP, 31 y.o., Dy Hd Ar, 6 weeks AML (after memory loss)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry inserted a finger in the stiff collar of his dress robes subtly. It was digging into the back of his neck, and judging from Hermione’s raised eyebrows earlier that night, it was a new set. He nodded, humming at the appropriate points as the man talked about the possibility of backend transfers between wizarding accounts using an application. It was a promising idea if the charms could work with the layered security of the banks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling a card from his robes, he handed it to the man. “I’ll be willing to invest when you do leave Barclays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man gaped as he stared at the plain name card. “I wasn’t going to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been thinking about it,” Harry said plainly. Within just five minutes, the young man’s passion had been obvious, and the amount of thought he had put in was more than that of passing consideration. “If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you.” In due course, the business would need someone savvier to succeed, but for now, his partner's Ravenclaw mind was what it needed. As the man took his card, Harry was sure that this was the point of the stack of personal cards he had found in the pockets of one of his dress robes. If it wasn’t, well, maybe he should start helping more young inventors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry had been surprised by the event on his calendar. Unless it was related to Luna, he had never been particularly active in animal conservation initiatives. The decision to drag Hermione along as his plus one was wise. At least someone would stop him from throttling Malfoy, who was also in attendance as one of the board members in the organisation, his hair shining from the chandeliers while he casually made rounds around the room in cobalt blue robes, laughing endlessly as if delighted by everything. By force of habit, it was hard for Harry to keep his eyes off Malfoy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was great speaking with you. Maybe we could reconnect again in a month if you’re still interested?” Harry suggested when it was obvious that the man was considering his proposition. Shaking his hand, he headed towards Hermione, sniffing distastefully as he watched Malfoy move along diagonally across the room, always maintaining a clear distance from him. His phone calls had gone unanswered, and Malfoy’s replies to him had been brief. It was unthinkable that past-Harry and Malfoy had even been friends in the first place when this was the sort of treatment he received. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry returned the nod of a woman as he took two drinks from a waiter. After close to two months of his situation, he had quickly developed the ability to determine who knew him, and how to avoid talking to them if he was not in the mood of playacting—future Harry could reconnect with them later when he got his memories back. For now, Harry would look busy and determined as he walked his friend. “What did Malfoy say?” he asked Hermione when they met in the middle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione shot him a look of annoyance. “He didn’t talk about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked at her pointedly while she took a nonchalant sip of her drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We talked about privacy laws,” she said finally as she watched him for his response. He motioned for her to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I expressed concerns over the mining of data for advertisements, and we talked about potential sources of revenue for such free digital services—” she folded her arms as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t even really pay attention whenever I talk about my work, but just because it’s Malfoy, you’re all ears!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tend to go too much into the details, which I can’t appreciate,” he feigned as Hermione tried to hit him in the arm. “So what did he say when you accused him of selling user privacy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I didn’t accuse him, and besides, he—” the both of them looked up when the speaker returned to the stage to present the new marketing video for the organisation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can Malfoy make the video when he’s a Board member?” Harry hissed as the lights dimmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione shot him a dirty look. “He wouldn’t do such a thing,” she defended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he sells user privacy—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the issue—” Hermione interrupted in a sharp whisper, immediately shutting up with obvious irritation when someone threw them a dirty look as the video started playing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry glared at Malfoy from across the room. Was this the video Malfoy had been busy with? Surely it couldn’t have been too difficult especially if he had the organisation eating out of his hand. Harry shook his head as he watched Malfoy. He had expected more from him, that perhaps Malfoy would learn that nefarious plotting had never been his forte. Just like their sixth year, the machinations had made Malfoy skinnier, his cheeks sunken since they had last sat opposite each other in Serendipity. Was he staying away from Serendipity just to avoid Harry? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry perked up at the thought—he would stop by Malfoy’s office with cakes. It was genius. He would be able to fatten Malfoy up for the slaughter quite literally.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. HJP, 31 y.o., Dy Hd Ar, 8 weeks AML</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry had been chatting with Greg when the email from Malfoy came in with an insistent buzz. He hadn’t even been the one to configure it for Malfoy specifically—past-Harry had apparently taken his communications job so seriously that Malfoy had a special buzz for himself. He scanned the reply quickly. It was terribly brief and business-like, but it was the first direct correspondence he had from Malfoy since the fundraiser.</p><p>“Malfoy finally replied to me,” he told Greg as he straightened from his lean against the counter.</p><p>“Took him long enough,” Greg replied as he gave a lady her change.</p><p>“I’ll drop by his office right now.”</p><p>Greg made a face as he finally looked at Harry properly. “I don’t think that that’s a good idea. He’s been very busy.”</p><p>“Yes, but he finally replied.”</p><p>“Maybe he took so long to reply because he knew that you would be like this.”</p><p>Harry scoffed at him, “that’s absolutely rubbish. I’ll have thirty small cakes to go, any flavour is fine. Pack six of them separately, no repeats for those.”</p><p>“One for each year of obsession,” Greg muttered under his breath as he set the boxes up on the counter.</p><p>“We’re thirty-one years old,” Harry reminded him reflexively, tucking his phone into his pocket. It was a statement that he always started his day with nowadays.</p><p>Greg looked disbelievingly at him, cakes suspended in mid-air. “You’ve been obsessed with Draco your whole life?”</p><p>Harry’s eyes darted about shiftily. “Of course not,” he scoffed. “I didn’t mean that. I thought you were referring to the thirty cakes, not the six on the side.” He felt cornered and desperate, “I mean, I wasn't around for seventh year, but I thought about Malfoy even when we were, you know, running, erm for our lives and all, so I thought that it would be seven, not six, and thirty one, not thirty because we're thirty one years old.” He was quickly losing control of his mouth. There was surely no need for such clarifications, but it was always like this with Greg.</p><p>He knew that Greg was also friends with Malfoy and that he shouldn’t say too much, but the way Greg always seemed distracted while they were talking made Harry overshare, and the perpetual expression of confusion on Greg's face made Harry tack on even more details. “So I mean, if it was one cake for each year of obsession during Hogwarts, it would be seven cakes.”</p><p>Greg nodded slowly while he shut the lid on one of the boxes. “Twenty cakes since first year.”</p><p>Harry shook his head adamantly as he shrunk the boxes to a more manageable size. “Seven cakes only. I haven't been obsessed for twenty years,” he said.</p><p>“No, that’s thirty one cakes. You've been obsessed with Draco since you were born,” Greg said as he keyed in the purchase into the register. “But it’s only twenty cakes because I'm giving you a bit of leeway.”</p><p>“No, it’s not. It’s seven cakes only,” Harry argued as he paid for his purchases, ignoring the confused look from the usual cashier that had returned from her break.</p><p>“You’re lying to yourself and it’s not healthy,” Greg said smoothly, his face devoid of judgement as he stepped aside for his employee. “Say hello to Draco, would you? I haven’t seen him for a while too.”</p><p>Harry hummed as he waved goodbye. It sometimes felt like Greg was coddling his feelings, which was a weird thought to have, because it was completely unnecessary.</p><p>- - - - -</p><p>“Hello,” Harry greeted brightly, smile wavering with guilt when Malfoy startled behind his laptop, his eyes hardening when he registered his presence. He raised the pink box from Serendipity higher in protection. </p><p>“I’ve brought gifts,” he tacked on quickly as Malfoy fastened his blazer and straightened his hair. It didn’t seem like a good time—Malfoy’s table was strewn with papers and his under eyes were dark from sleep deprivation. Harry had checked the Ministry records for orders to Malfoy’s firm and he had expected a potential lull in the workload.</p><p>“Did we have an appointment?” Malfoy asked as he waved a wand to clear his documents.</p><p>“No” Harry said apologetically as he set the box onto Malfoy’s table gingerly. “I like your office. The décor isn’t quite what I expected from you though,” he gestured at the entire office of Malfoy’s company. “And the location.”</p><p>Malfoy’s shoulders loosened, the wariness in his eyes giving way to amusement as he leaned forward. “That’s what you said last year too,” he said, his smile lopsided as he looked at Harry closely.</p><p>Harry pushed a hand through his hair wryly. “You wouldn’t believe how often I actually get that. I don’t change too much apparently.” It was apparently the wrong thing to say. Malfoy looked away immediately as he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. It was ridiculous how personal Malfoy seemed to be taking his injury. Harry had thought that a year would have been enough for him to be more used to his father’s loss of memories.</p><p>Malfoy exhaled as he rubbed his jaw distractedly before reaching for the box of sweets. “Is there a reason for your visit?” a genuine smile broke across his face when he laid eyes on the contents of the box. “Is this all for me?”</p><p>Harry felt wrong-footed at the unadulterated joy on Malfoy’s face. He was sure that he had never seen Malfoy so open before. “Erm, of course. It’s a bribe,” he said honestly, laughing when Malfoy suddenly pulled out a fork from a drawer and helped himself immediately.</p><p>“It’s supposed to work the other way, Harry. You’re the client. I’m the contractor—” he broke off into an appreciative moan around the forkful of dark chocolate lavender tart. Sighing to himself, Malfoy frowned when he couldn’t get another portion to balance on his fork.</p><p>Harry hurriedly stepped forward to help Malfoy unfasten the edges of the box. He startled when he realised that Greg had apparently snuck seven cakes into the box. <em> Bloody Slytherins! </em> </p><p>“You haven’t had lunch?” Harry asked, taking a seat as he waved Malfoy’s offer of a spoon away.</p><p>Malfoy rolled his eyes as he pushed a crumb on his bottom lip into his mouth. “It’s only just after eleven, Potter.”</p><p>“Is it?” Harry said as he pretended to check his wePhone. “I saw your email and rushed here immediately.”</p><p>“Slacking at Serendipity?” Malfoy asked, smirking as he pulled the fork out of his mouth slowly.</p><p>“I wasn’t slacking, I was—” he began to defend himself, breaking off with an eye roll when he realised that Malfoy was only pulling his leg. </p><p>“The bribery is working,” he pointed to the box of cakes. “So what do you want, Ha—Potter?”</p><p>“Well, I see where you’re coming from with the campaign, but—” he broke off as he watched Malfoy eye the rest of the cakes in the box wistfully as if considering whether to have another. “Do you want to go for lunch? We can talk over lunch. I’ll buy.”</p><p>Malfoy’s eyes were wide, his lips in a pout as he considered the suggestion. “I get to choose where we go.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Seemingly taken aback by the speed of his agreement, Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re not going to be able to change my mind about the campaign direction. I have my professional standards to uphold,” he said loftily, his nose in the air as he pressed the lid of his laptop shut.</p><p>“I’m not—” Harry exhaled heavily, “I just want to talk about it. It’s hard to talk back and forth over email, or get you to talk to me at all. You’d either fob me off to some intern or avoid me.” He felt vindicated by the flash of guilt on Malfoy’s face.</p><p>“Fine,” Malfoy said, tugging on his blazer as he stood up. “It’s only a working lunch,” he said as if reminding Harry.</p><p>“Of course. What else would it be?” Harry replied questioningly, brows raising when he noticed the falter in Malfoy’s steps. He knew that past-Harry and Malfoy were supposedly friends, but Malfoy had been treating him so poorly since his incident that they were now merely colleagues in his book. Still, being colleagues was already a huge step up from their original dynamic as schoolboy rivals. Besides, anything more required cooperation on Malfoy’s part. “Look, Malfoy—”</p><p>“It’s okay. I sometimes forget who I’m speaking to,” Malfoy apologised as he closed his office door.</p><p>Harry frowned at the comment. “I hate it when people tell me that,” he said sullenly as they fell into step. “I’m trying very hard to be the Harry that they want but it’s never enough. It’s like this Harry doesn’t matter, you know?”</p><p>Malfoy looked stricken.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Harry pushed a frustrated hand into his hair. “I didn’t really mean it—”</p><p>“No—” Malfoy grabbed his arm as they reached the reception area. “It’s the weight of memories and expectations. You’re not inadequate. It’s just that we still cling onto the idea of who you used to be,” he trailed off, the moment heavy as his eyes danced across Harry’s face as if intently cataloguing his features.</p><p>“I don’t like to disappoint people,” Harry said quietly.</p><p>“You’re not. There’s always new memories to be made,” Malfoy said with heavy reluctance. He looked away as he removed his hand.</p><p>Harry felt his hand seize when Malfoy’s fingers brushed against his as he slid his hand off. Looking at Malfoy’s back as he walked towards the door, Harry was overcome with the feeling that he had lost something. But what was there to hold on to?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. HJP: 10 weeks AML</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry stood at the window of the concealed entrance of St. Mungo’s, scratching his brow idly as he looked at the Muggles going about their day, unaware of a hospital just metres away from them. He could simply step out, and blend in with the humdrum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was coming to three months since his brain injury and with none of his memories being recovered, Harry had come to the possibility that they would never return. It was the worst case scenario, but it no longer haunted him as it used to. Proudfoot had restarted him with proper Auror duties, and being in the thick of things had helped him to gain confidence. His current case involved interdepartmental coordination, and his team was working well together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People who would talk to him had done so, and less guesswork was required nowadays. He was relearning the combat skills he had honed, and the possibilities ahead felt endless. Even Hermione was less worried for him nowadays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re blocking the way, you big lug.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stumbled, nearly falling through the magical barrier to Muggle London. He whipped around, his annoyance immediately disappearing when he saw Malfoy. Harry returned the smile. “Was thinking about stuff,” he waved his hand carelessly. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy’s expression flickered, going from a mischievous grin to guilt, then to forced nonchalance. “I was just—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about Lucius,” Harry interrupted when he suddenly connected the reason for Malfoy’s presence at St. Mungo’s. “I didn’t like him, but he’s your father. It shouldn’t have taken that long to get the Dementors removed,” he continued when Malfoy only frowned at him. He tried his best to project his sincerity. Even with the protection of his Animagus form, Sirius would often sink into dissociative episodes in Grimmauld, and to have his father return as a shell was understandably difficult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for your kindness,” Malfoy said stiffly as he played with the button on the front of his coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded nervously. Just typical of him to have made it awkward. “Would you like to get lunch together?” he blurted. “If you’re available that is. It’s fine if you’re not.” Their last lunch had been fairly pleasant. He had asked Malfoy about his life in France and his return to the UK when Malfoy had been pulled away by an unplanned meeting. Malfoy had been witty and sincere, and Harry had come to see why they used to be friends. He understood Malfoy’s reticence, but surely their friendship was worth the effort to continue?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get to choose,” Malfoy said after a lengthy deliberation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Harry replied brightly, amused when Malfoy shot him a sharp look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a working lunch, and you’ll have to treat me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry pushed a hand through his hair in frustration as he ran to follow Malfoy. “Why does it always have to be a working lunch? Why can’t it just be a lunch among friends?” he grabbed Malfoy’s arm when he didn’t stop. He pulled Malfoy to face him. “I know that it’s hard because I remind you of your dad, but Ron said that we used to be friends. Injury or otherwise, I’m still the same person, and I know that you’re not the old Malfoy. We can be good together. Why do you keep me out? Why can’t we be friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy’s eyes were hard, his lips a firm line as he stared at Harry. He wrenched his arm away. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was perplexed. “Then why don’t you tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stiff line of Malfoy’s shoulder loosened as he took a step closer. His anger faded to a look of sadness as he cupped Harry’s face. Harry’s breath stuttered when Malfoy’s thumb moved against his cheek. His heart was racing as their eyes met, Malfoy’s imploring and desperate. Was Malfoy tearing up? Harry started to panic, but before he could formulate a response, Malfoy pulled his hand away and turned to leave.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry exhaled shakily, his mind swirling as he watched the bright halo of Malfoy’s hair. The ghost of Malfoy’s hand continued to burn long after he disappeared.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. HJP: 3 months AML</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dropping unceremoniously into the seat opposite Malfoy, he met Malfoy’s look of shock defiantly as he set the bouquet of peonies on the table. Greg’s message that Malfoy—no, Draco was in Serendipity had arrived in the middle of a meeting, and between Greg stalling for time and him ploughing through the agenda forcefully, he had managed to pick out the largest bouquet in the florist before meeting Draco. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this,” Draco said blandly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your favourite flowers,” Harry replied. “Your favourite cake,” he said as he pointed at the plate before Draco. “Your favourite weather,” he pointed outside the shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your favourite person,” he gestured to himself, breaking into a smile when Malfoy—no, Draco flushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know what you're pulling, Potter," Draco said, ducking as he tried to finish his tart at double speed so that he could leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hopefully, you," Harry said immediately, giving Draco an awkward smile at the look of disdain tossed his way. He didn't mean to be so shameless—the opportunity had simply been too good for him to ignore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't go," he begged as he held onto Draco's arm, preventing him from standing. "I'm asking for a chance. I—" he gestured to his head. "I'm sorry that I forgot about you and I know that it must have been horrible. It would have been impossible to tell me that we were involved, but when I look back, everything finally makes sense. Your response when you knew about my injury, the special ringtone, my attendance at the fundraiser, the vaguely matching robes that we had on that night, the book about guerilla marketing on my bedside table," he listed off on his fingers. "I'm sorry that you were alone," Harry held Draco's hand in his, rubbing it gently as he looked at Draco apologetically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had initially been disbelieving when Draco had all but told him, but Ron and Hermione had agreed that he had seemed happier in the few months before the injury. Apparently the load of his work would often get to him, and the change could have been attributed to Draco's presence. Hermione had been disappointed that he didn't trust them enough to share the information, but Harry had brushed it off. Past-Harry was the one guilty of the omission, not him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We weren't that serious, Potter," Draco said disdainfully as he tried to pull his hand away. Harry held on firmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, Harry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Draco said pointedly as he raised his brows at their connected hands. Harry only smiled as he pulled Draco's hand across the table.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know that we weren't serious. I mean, even Hermione and Ron didn't know. Plus we didn't message much--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We had self-destructive chats," Draco interrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's that?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Chats that self-destruct, or disappear after the set amount of time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bloody hell," Harry complained, his brows knitted together in strong disapproval. "Why in Merlin's arse would anyone invent such a thing? What about records, memories, and evidence?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Too salacious to be left lying around," Draco said, his tone light, but the smugness on his face conveying other things entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry felt his cheeks heat as he thought about the possible content that they could have shared. Did people send sexy pictures nowadays? His groin tightened at the image of receiving a picture of Draco in the nude. He yelped when he received a sharp kick on his shin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know where your mind is, Potter, and I do not approve. If you must know, it was strictly only messages requesting for you to come over, or vice versa. I initiated the self destruct chat due to potential conflict of interest." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But your company was selected by the committee during the whole-of-Ministry tender," Harry frowned. To consolidate and lower advertisement expenses, the Ministry had thrown a single tender to identify suitable agencies. Draco's company had scored the highest during evaluation, and was the only setup with prior experience in digital marketing and relevant experience in crafting public information campaigns. It was a no brainer that the Aurors would choose to work with Draco. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, but I could still potentially lose the contract because of you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Or I could drop this job scope." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looked upwards as he exhaled heavily. He closed his eyes momentarily as if gathering his patience. "Potter, </span>
  <em>
    <span>we're not that serious</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We—pardon my language—</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> after meetings because why not." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We could still fuck outside of meetings. And I know that we do that because I was travelling too much to meet you, and you left a bloody book in my room. Besides, you said that we called each other over. I'd still be interested in seeing you even if we don't work together." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not worried about that—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then what are you worried about?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That you're making changes to make space for unimportant things!" Draco said in frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry narrowed his eyes at him, releasing Draco's hand finally at the other's insistent tug. Draco folded his hands before himself defensively even though his facial expression was defiant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think that I can tell the unimportant things for myself, thanks," Harry said coolly while Draco's lip twitched in amusement. He didn't know why Draco was so reluctant to get back into this with him. He didn't want to take too much credit, but Draco was beginning to look really lousy for his Malfoy standards. He seemed haggard, his eyes dull from obvious fatigue. If it wasn't a case of missing Harry, he really didn't know what it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you have to lose? Like I said, we're good together," he prodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't even know if we're actually good together," Malfoy said in argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We agreed to wear matching robes in public. I'm sure that we were probably verging on something serious." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breaking their eye contact, Draco shifted in his seat as he looked at the counter behind Harry. "I want to take things slowly," he said finally. His fingers were fiddling with the handle of his teacup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Will courting be slow enough for you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco whipped his head to look at him, his lips parted in shock. "Who mentioned anything about courting?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I did, of course."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why would you—" Draco sputtered, his cheeks pink. "Potter, you don't even know what courting requires. You don't even know me!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry rolled his eyes as he pointed at the bouquet on the table. He had obviously read up on the requirements that would make Draco have to sit down with him. "It begins with a present and a public announcement, then with three gifts over a month, indicating my capability to provide, my understanding of you, and expectations of our coupling. When it's over, you'll have to return my efforts with a gift of equal consideration." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Or I could simply give you a used handkerchief and send you off." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry's mouth twisted at the flippancy. By the antiquated rules, they would be engaged in a month if Draco accepted his efforts. He had no clear expectations from the courtship apart from getting to know Draco better, but the idea that Draco would simply refuse to see a possibility in them being anything more than casual bed partners made him more upset than he expected. "I'm serious about this, Draco. I'm doing this properly. I know that we can be good together and I don't care if you don't give me a chance. I'll change your mind in a month." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do whatever you want, Potter. But it'll still be the same. Your work is your life and it will always come first. You're simply too important and I can only give in so many times," he said tiredly with a shrug. "And you're wrong about me changing. I'm still the same Malfoy. I did what I did the last time at Mungo's because I was selfish. I missed the idea of you—of having a lover. You would have been happier. I should have let you go, but I didn't want you to move on. Nothing good will come out of this, Potter." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry squared his jaw when Draco met his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you still going to continue with the courtship?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," he replied immediately, watching as Draco's face flitted from hopefulness, to blankness, then anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have it your way then. I've been more than honourable to have warned you. I would like a draft of the announcement from Lewis before it's printed, and I'll arrange for a meeting with my mother this week. You know how to reach me," Draco said briskly as he unshrunk his coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing up heavily, Draco took a long look at him. Harry tried his best to control the urge to shift in his seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll talk to Proudfoot about work," he said quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"About us working together or you working all the time?" Draco asked, his smile thin when Harry didn't reply immediately. "I thought so. See you around," he said as he picked the flowers up, bumping against the table as he left.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. HJP: 3 months and 2 weeks AML, 2 weeks into courtship of DLM</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry, 11:27am: Lunch?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco, 11:40am: Can't. Setting up for the filming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, 11:40am: What filming? Over lunch? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, 11:41am: You better not be filming for the Aurors. I've said that I wanted to be there! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, 11:41am: Bloody hell, Malfoy. I'm coming down right now. You're such a cheat!!! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, 11:41am: I'll KILL YOU IF YOu start without me! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco,11:43am: Get lunch for five if you're really coming. I'm craving for mentaiko sauce on sushi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, 11:43am: Bloody hell, Malfoy!!!!!!!! How the hell am I going to find something so specific right now?? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, 11:43am: Does the five include me? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco, 11:43am: No. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco, 11:43am: Of course it does. Hurry up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, 11:45am: I hate you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco, 11:52am: xxxxxxxxx</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was after twelve fifteen when Harry apparated into the concealed apparition area at Draco's office. Hands laden with takeaway, a dark frown was etched into his face. Getting Draco to meet him halfway was like pulling teeth. It was obvious that Draco still appreciated his presence—the stress melting off his shoulders whenever they had meals together, but his messages were like pouring molasses, slow and sluggish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was also more careful with his hands around him. It was a habit he had developed working in the Auror corps, friendly pats on the arm and shoulder had come to be normal, but Draco always flinched, curling into himself, and Harry’s attempts to ease him into it had backfired. Draco was incredibly conscious of his body, and even when they were laughing on the sofa about something funny on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Picturae</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Draco would always maintain the distance between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” Amelia, Draco’s lighting and sound head brightened the moment she saw him. “I’m so glad that you’re here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco is quite unhappy today,”  Alexandre, the french intern explained as he helped to unpack the purchases. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not—” Draco barked, sulking as he suffered through Harry’s kiss on his cheek. “I just had a headache.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco’s a firm believer that misery loves company,” Michael, the director for the shoot said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have breakfast?” Harry asked carefully as he passed Draco’s order over, waving the gratitude from Draco's employees away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I did. It'll blow over," Draco said, sitting down heavily with a sigh at the table Michael had transfigured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did you guys even make the mockup?" Harry asked Draco quietly as he eyed the huge model behind them, complete with flashing, fizzing advertisements and small characters bustling about. He had seen the animated Diagon Alley in the past advertisements for the Aurors, but he had never realised that it was filmed on a corporeal model. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We got a cartographer for the mapping, inclusive of the alleys, and then transferred it to a scaled model. I added the localised animation spells afterwards." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded quickly. It was obvious from the slant of Draco's brows that they had had the conversation previously. "You did a great job," he said as he stole another glance at the sparks being set off at what was obviously the Weasley's shop. He wondered if he had the opportunity to watch Draco create it previously. "You're amazingly talented." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco blinked at him, his mouth full from sushi. Pushing his fringe back, he swallowed quickly. "I know," he said in a poor attempt at suaveness, his flushed cheeks giving away the pleasure he took from the compliment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry beamed at him, smiling wider when Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation when he didn't look away. Draco's fringe fell forward again as he returned to his food. Harry's fingers curled from the urge to reach over to push it back for him. Despite Draco's prickliness, Harry didn't regret initiating the courtship. He always found himself looking forward to meeting Draco, and learning more about him. Draco was intelligent, witty, and resourceful, and just being in his presence, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it made him giddy about their possibilities, sending them to where past-Harry had stood. He could groom and delegate the undercover work to his team, but the larger cases would still inevitably require his direct support. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you not hungry, Senior Auror Potter?" Alexandre asked, flinching when he received a jab from Amelia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh he is hungry. But for Draco," she said laughing at Alexandre's expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not!" Harry defended quickly as he shot a nervous look at Draco. "I was just thinking about things." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Things</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Amelia repeated loudly, while Michael shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco didn't appreciate it when you said that you weren't hungry for him,” said Michael, a twinkle in his eye. “Rookie's mistake, mate." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wasn't. I mean," he looked at Draco for help, frowning when Draco only shrugged without any care. "I was thinking about Draco's hair. It looks thicker than I remembered it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia swooned while both Michael and Alexandre laughed at Draco's self conscious pat of his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe it's his head. Swelling from all the compliments you give him." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Swelling from all the head Harry gives him, more like," Amelia said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What does head giving mean in English?" Alexandre asked, repeating his question when nobody offered a reply, too busy being embarrassed, or giggling amongst themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry pressed the phone away from the boy's hand. "Giving head means when you think very hard about something, like when you're using all of your brains." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So like how euh, Draco gives you head everyday because the both of you are together?" the boy asked innocently while Amelia and Michael collapsed onto one another in laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, just like that," Draco said as he collected his trays and placed them in the plastic bag. "But Harry gives me more head because he knows that I like it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry gaped at the statement as he watched the high flush on Draco's cheeks while he adamantly avoided his eyes. Was Draco sincere about liking blowjobs? Because he had always been quite partial to giving them. He liked the heft of cock, and the feeling of it stiffening in his mouth under the ministrations of his tongue. Draco's cock would be so pretty, weeping for more…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Senior Auror Potter is giving Draco head right now," Alexandre observed, flinching when Amelia hit him on the arm in laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, Potter gives head at all the wrong times," Draco said airily as he pointed to Harry's rice bowl. "Finish eating so you can continue giving me head afterwards." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry swallowed nervously as he felt his cheeks heat. He buried his face into the don as he tried his best to ignore the laughters before suddenly looking up. "Alexandre, giving head isn't a very polite term. You shouldn't use it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But isn't it just slang for thinking?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, but it's not very polite so you really don't hear people using it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay. I'll probably forget it one day. There's too much English slangs," he said as he tapped his temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry continued to dig into his food as Amelia asked about the slangs he had picked up. He raised a brow at Draco when he noticed him staring. "Are you giving me head?" he teased quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco rolled his eyes as he picked at a stray lint on his trousers. "I'm still hungry," he shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry's face twitched at the force of maintaining his neutral expression. Remembering how much sushi Draco had eaten the last time, he had bought three servings for Draco today, but it somehow wasn't enough. Harry pushed his bowl over to Draco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't like other people's leftovers," Draco said as he pushed it away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not leftovers! I've hardly touched it," Harry said as he tried his best to cover up the bit that he had eaten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I don't need your lunch then," Draco insisted as he stuck his nose higher into the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't be silly. You'll be doing most of the magic later. You need the energy more than I do." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, so do you. You have Auror stamina."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, but I had a cake at Serendipity before I came." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you didn't get anything for me?" Draco took Harry's chopsticks unceremoniously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't think that you'd want sweets with your sushi cravings," Harry said, as he watched Draco pick at the rice bowl in a sulk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I always want sweets, Potter," Draco said with his mouth full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Harry nodded earnestly, smiling as he watched Draco eat. Draco had regained the weight he had lost months ago when work had been more hectic, and even now, it wasn't often that he would have an appetite. Harry found himself commiserating with Narcissa, who had spent more time during their dinner together watching Draco eat than doing so herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- - - - - </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Latest public information campaign from the Aurors, seen on Picturae: Constant vigilance series, suspicious package ver. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep, pleasant voiceover: Teddy the teddy bear is walking down Diagon Alley. Teddy is getting some sweets today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skipping through Diagon Alley, Teddy is humming loudly to himself. The crowd is sparse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep, pleasant voiceover: Oh, something has caught Teddy's eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teddy startles when he notices a shiny big red box in front of a shop. "Present?" Teddy exclaims in surprise. "For Teddy?" Teddy looks into the camera excitedly. His eyes are shining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep, pleasant voiceover: Oh no, Teddy. Don't touch the strange box. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teddy unwraps the present excitedly and lifts the lid of the box. A Muggle boxing glove springs up and punches Teddy squarely in the face. Teddy stumbles. When he looks into the camera, his furry little face is sunken in from the punch. His eyes are crossed. He is unsteady on his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep, pleasant voiceover: I've told you, Teddy. Don't touch strange items on the street! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teddy nods weakly and collapses onto the ground. The screen fades to black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The message, "Constant vigilance. Report any unattended items that you see in public areas.", can be seen on-screen.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- - - - - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg’s going to be there, right?” Harry asked as he added water into the pot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco made a distracted noise as he continued to type on his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last time he had met Draco’s friends, Pansy had made endless barbed remarks about him, and had only stopped after Draco had pulled her aside for a talk. Spending a Friday with Pansy wasn’t ideal, but he wanted to make an effort to know Draco’s friends properly. If everything else failed, he could swap recipes with Greg and talk about their culinary experiments until Draco was done. He continued to stir the pot idly before replacing the lid. “Is Greg going to be there?” he repeated when Draco finally looked up in the lull of his virtual conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco nodded in reply. “It’ll be at Pansy’s house. I’ll bring wine for the both of us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry tapped his fingers on the countertop nervously. There was no time better than now, really. “I, erm, for the second gift, I prepared an ensuite beside mine for you. I know that you work late sometimes, and we hang out till quite late too, and I know that you don’t really like to travel much. I know that we’re taking it slow, so I thought that a separate room here might be good for you.” He waved at the ceiling awkwardly as he waited for Draco to respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco blinked, the corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. “That’s the lousiest speech I’ve ever heard in—” he broke off suddenly, staring into space, his lips parted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Harry asked in concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I—” Draco said quickly as he pressed his hand against his belly. “I mean yes, I’m fine. Sudden cramps,” he waved Harry away.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it gastric pain?” Harry asked as he continued to hover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it's not. Get back to your pot, Potter. It’s burning,” he said impatiently as he pushed Harry away by the hip. “Haha, pot, Potter,” he repeated in amusement when Harry took a step backwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shook his head, before sitting down once more. There was still at least ten minutes more until the sauce was ready. “Tell me if your stomach gives you any more problems.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. I was just surprised,” Draco said as he placed his chin on his palm. “Is it going to be done soon? I’m hungry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry sighed as he got to his feet once more. Draco had requested pasta and meatballs, and despite warnings about the time required, he had insisted that Harry cook it instead of getting a takeaway. He was just lucky that Harry had been adequately impressed by Draco's animation skills to reward him. Plating one meatball, he set it before Draco. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelie had remarked offhandedly in between takes that Draco’s first animated advertisement had inspired a whole industry of professional wizarding filmmaking, and Harry had been, and still was chuffed to be dating a trailblazer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad that your appetite has returned,” Harry said as he returned to his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you calling me fat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, I’m just glad that you’re eating at all. You were losing quite a bit of a weight a few months ago,” Harry said defensively as he took a sip of water. Draco was on a bit of a health bend and had refused to drink any alcohol for his liver’s sake. Harry had also weaned off in support. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You speak as if it’s not your fault.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry blinked in surprise. “Oh, it’s because you were missing me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, no—” Draco complained. “Wipe that grin off your face! You’re not that important, Potter. I was just vengeful and whatever. And then there was a lot of work. Actually, there was just a lot of work, and I wasn’t vengeful or anything. Ignore my comment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you were too busy giving me head to eat.” Harry insisted, pushing at the issue as he marvelled at the pink on Draco’s cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I wasn’t. I command you to forget what I said.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grinned, biting the insides of his mouth as he leaned backwards in his seat, a poor attempt at concealing his amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potter, since when do you let things go so easily?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let what go? Were we talking about something?” Harry feigned confusion as he watched Draco play with the remaining sauce in the bowl.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco sighed to himself. “It’s strange when you’re so docile. It’s nice though. It’s like having Harry Potter at my beck and call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry's brows creased. "I'm not docile. I'm respecting the space that you requested, and I'm trying to show you that I care. I wouldn't do the things you asked for if they were unreasonable." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco's lips were twisted in consideration. He shrugged lightly. "I don't know. I expected you to be more demanding and push through." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that what you want?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," he shrugged contradictorily. "No. I don't know what I want. I feel like we're heading for an inevitable fight, and you giving in to my demands and requests is just us avoiding it. I expected you to push back or something." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did we use to fight a lot?" Harry asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco inhaled deeply. "Not really. There wasn't much to fight about. We were casual and it was clear that there wasn't an option for more." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like I said, there was. Past-Harry just didn't know how to ask." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco sat up straighter as he crossed his arms. "You know my stance on this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded reluctantly as he got onto his feet. "I know. And I'm trying to show you that we could be good as we are." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It wouldn't be good if you were gone most of the time being Harry Potter. I'm too selfish to share. I don't want to worry about you returning to me in a casket, or worse, without a body for me to mourn over." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not going to die," Harry said quietly as he put the spaghetti into another pot. Turning to look at Draco when he received no reply, Draco was biting his lips as he looked at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think that we're looking at the same horizons," Draco said finally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen was quiet as Harry stirred the spaghetti in the water. "We are. It's just that I still want to be Harry Potter." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's more to being Harry Potter than throwing yourself on the frontline." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry chopped the basil leaves in lieu of a reply. Without the red robes, Harry Potter was but a man with too much magic and concern. Now more than ever when he had lost his memories, he needed the assurance that he had achieved something for himself. With the Aurors, he had a higher purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence between them was resentful. Pulling the spaghetti out with a drainer, he threw it into the sauce and mixed it. Levitating it to the table, he finally looked at Draco. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you staying over tonight?" he asked instead. He thanked Draco for plating a serving for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes. I'm too tired to travel home. I'll probably drop by the manor tomorrow morning to get some handkerchiefs—" he broke off in an appreciative moan as he took a bite of his dinner. Draco kicked his foot playfully under the table. "Almost good enough to keep you forever," he said teasingly, his brows raised in amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry gave him a wry smile. Draco would always unsubtly reference his comment about sending Harry off with a used handkerchiefs whenever their discussion of the future fell through, and it was spiteful but warranted. After weeks of courtship, Draco was still less important than Harry's career, just like he had previously predicted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Will you stay over again tomorrow?" Harry asked as he touched Draco's toes with his lightly. He left it there when Draco didn't move away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe. Depends on how late Pansy is." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded in reply. If Draco had been selfish for reaching out when Harry hadn't known about the relationship, then Harry was greedy for wanting it all—a successful career on the frontline and a relationship. He wondered what Draco would say if he asked him to wait for him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. HJP: 3 months and 3 weeks AML, 3 weeks into courtship of DLM</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry flooed into Grimmauld, his brain fuzzy from the meeting that had lasted for too long. Scotland Yard had recruited the Aurors to look into a break in at Buckingham Palace, and they had insisted his men manually comb through all seven hundred and seventy five rooms, even after they had banished the poltergeist. To top it all off, the debrief by his newly promoted counterpart had been lengthy and confrontational as he accused the wizarding community of being a threat to national security. </p><p>He would have to put up a request to review Mattheo's appointment tomorrow. The thought of the number of committees involved made him sigh. He should drop by Serendipity tomorrow to bribe Kingsley's secretary—<em> oh bloody hell, he was supposed to meet Draco for dinner! </em> </p><p>Harry smacked himself in the forehead, wincing when it connected more soundly than he had intended. He hadn't even informed Draco that he wouldn't be able to make it. <em> Oh, he was an absolute arsehole, </em>he swore again when he saw the three missed calls and five messages from Draco on his wePhone. It made it even worse how quickly Draco understood that a case had come up. His last message had been two hours ago, asking him to stay safe.</p><p>Oh, he had really done it now—he had proved to Draco that his work would come first even though he had tried so hard to be on his best behaviour. Harry pressed a hand to his temple in frustration. Pulling off his robe, he headed up the stairs to see Draco. Even though he had no excuses, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. </p><p>Pushing the door to his own bedroom open, Harry felt his heart twinge at the sight of Draco asleep on his bed. Draco was still in one of the blazers that he favoured, his bare feet hanging off the end of the mattress. It was obvious that he had fallen asleep reading, the front of his reading glasses pressing uncomfortably against his nose as he snored lightly, his hand curled loosely on a French book. </p><p>Rounding the four poster bed, Harry reached to pull Draco's glasses off guiltily, pausing when he noticed the bump at Draco's abdomen. The button of Draco's suit had come undone, and Draco had a belly. <em> A significant belly </em> that Harry had never seen before. </p><p>Reaching over, Harry felt the fabric of Draco's suit, gasping quietly when he felt the resonance of a glamour weaved subtly into it. Harry took a step backwards in shock. He had never seen Draco without a suit, and it must have been intentional. Draco wanted to conceal his pregnancy, but why? Harry felt his heart drop when the answer came easily to him. His eyes were hot and his limbs felt weak. Without knowing how he had made it out of his room, he closed the bedroom door. He wanted to hold Draco and to apologise but he was ashamed of himself. </p><p>Harry was leaden as he fell onto his dining chair. He had lost more than six years—no, he had lost six years and five months, and even when Draco was by his side, his future was slipping by. No wonder Draco had been uncompromising about his request. Draco had been thinking about his family, and his child, while Harry had been thinking about himself. </p><p>Everything started to fall into place. Draco's initial weight loss, his cravings, his appetite, his stomach cramps, and him crossing his own boundaries to request foot massages. He had heard that male pregnancies were complicated and more physically demanding. Maybe that was why Draco had agreed to the courting relationships with him—to increase contact with Harry's magic so that his pregnancy would be safer. Harry burrowed his face in his hands. <em> How could he have been so blind? He was the Deputy Head Auror, for Merlin's sake! No wonder Pansy had been so furious with him. And the flimsy excuse to cut alcohol! </em> Harry had been so willing to accommodate Draco that he hadn't questioned it. But alas, he hadn't budged on Draco’s single request. </p><p>Harry stared blankly at the new carpet and the bright yellow curtains that Draco had purchased and installed in the dining room. Surely there was more to Harry Potter than throwing himself on the frontline. <em> But even if there wasn't, was it so bad? Hadn't he achieved enough for a new chapter of his life? </em> </p><p>It had taken him long enough, but the answer was finally clear. There was a job acceptance letter that he needed to pen. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. HJP: 4 months and a week AML, 1 month and a week into courtship of DLM</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry was massaging Draco's feet when the letter arrived. The month-long period of the courtship had passed, but Harry had yet to give his third present, and Draco had made no mentions of it. Their arrangement had continued without any discussion, and the opportunity to watch Draco while being aware of the truth had made him realise how unfit he was to don the Auror robes. </p><p>"Could you get it for me?" Harry asked Draco as he worked on his calves. </p><p>"It's from Hogwarts," Draco said. He set the envelope aside to coo at Minerva's eagle owl and praise it effusively. </p><p>"Treats are at the fireplace where you came in," Harry tilted his head when the owl started to look about. </p><p>"Another guest lecture?" Draco asked as he flicked the envelope at Harry. </p><p>Harry blinked at the obvious bitterness in Draco's tone. Perhaps he had really been more blind than he had thought. Did Draco encourage him to follow up on the networks he had made during events to spark a mentorship fervour? Everything had really been in front of him, simply waiting for him to see properly. </p><p>"I hope not," Harry shook his head. He levitated it back to Draco. "Can you open it for me? I'd do it myself, but—" he shrugged at the legs on his lap.  </p><p>"You better continue with that. Leave the less important things to me," Draco said quickly as he burrowed his legs deeper with a smirk. He tore the envelope open. </p><p>"Dear Potter, thank you bla bla, bla bla bla, meet the rest of the faculty, what the fuck," he crumpled the letter in his hand as he struggled to sit up. "Potter, she doesn't mean Professor <em> Professor </em> but Professor <em> guest lecturer </em>, right?" Draco asked, his face determinedly blank. </p><p>"No, I think she means Professor <em> Professor </em> Potter," Harry said as he broke into a smile at Draco's gobsmacked expression. </p><p>"What does that mean? Are you going to work at Hogwarts as a faculty member? What about the Aurors? This isn’t an offer letter, Potter." Draco asked in rapid fire, his face pink from agitation. </p><p>"I've quit the Aurors and accepted the position to be a faculty member in Hogwarts. I'm serving my three months notice with the Ministry right now," Harry said as he squeezed Draco's foot with a hopeful smile.</p><p>"You quit the Aurors?" Draco repeated disbelievingly. </p><p>Harry nodded, startling when Draco blinked and then started to cry. </p><p>"Oh, love," Harry sighed as he rushed over to hover over Draco. Draco pulled him close as he pressed his face into Harry's jumper. </p><p>"It's okay, it's okay," Harry soothed as he wrapped an arm around Draco's neck, while the other pet Draco's head comfortingly. </p><p>When Draco finally pulled away after his emotional outburst, his nose was red. He sulked as Harry wiped the vestiges of his emotional outburst away. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked petulantly as he crossed his arms.</p><p>"I wanted to give you a surprise. This is my third gift for you," he smiled widely at Draco, his heart full from making his lover so happy. </p><p>Draco stared at him in shock as he processed the information. "I appreciate the gift but I don't want you to be unhappy," he said quietly as he retrieved the letter that he had unintentionally crumpled, smoothing it carefully with his hands. </p><p>"I am happy," Harry insisted. "It took me long enough to understand what you've always been saying, that there was more to Harry Potter than risking my life. I want to be there for you when you need me," he said as he reached out to hold Draco's hand in his. </p><p>"Can you help me to get my handkerchief," Draco asked as he started to tear up again. Quickly summoning one from upstairs, he dabbed at Draco's tears. Draco waved him away, staring at the ceiling wiping his eyes intermittently as he sniffled softly.</p><p>Harry smoothed his thumb against the back of Draco's hand as he looked at Draco fondly, quietly excited for the times to come. Setting aside the soiled handkerchief from Draco, he paused at the hand on his arm.</p><p>"They’re my tears of happiness," he said seriously as he smoothed the silk handkerchief in Harry's hand. </p><p>Harry stared at him. He looked at the handkerchief, before returning to look at Draco. "Oh, you bloody—" he complained, before the laughter overtook him. The both of them laughed together, their respective gifts crumpled and forgotten on their laps.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would like to thank the mod for the prompt changes and multiple extensions. And my betas that appeared and helped me whip the fic into shape. I was really desperate. </p><p>When I first began plotting I was like, well, wouldn't it be nice to have an office!AU and then lockdown happened and my entire life became and office!AU, hahaha. </p><p>I tried to write something where mpreg isn't the driver of the story and I'm not quite sure if I succeeded. </p><p>Do point out any mistakes, I'd be eternally grateful!</p><p>Thank you for reading! Please show the author your appreciation in a comment and by leaving kudos  below. ♥</p><p>This story is part of the on-going and anonymous H/D Mpreg fest. The author will be revealed June 21st.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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